1. A Leap Forward for Dikkerby

1.                         A Leap forward for Dikkerby

“Eat up, Dikkerby. Ye’ll not grow big and strong like yer Dad if’n ye don’t eat yer greens.”

“But, Mam!” wailed the boy.

Even at the age of 12 he was known by everyone as “Dikkerby”.

“Do as yer Mam says or I’ll etch yer a clout, lad!”

It was lunchtime in a poor area of Stockport a long time ago. It was the first day of the school holidays and Dikkerby had an important appointment fixed for two o’clock that day. An appointment that would change the rest of his life.

His father sat in the worn-out armchair reading the Daily Mirror, wearing a stained string vest.

His mother carefully crimped her Woodbine cigarette into the sink and slid the butt into her apron pocket. For later.

“Come along, young’un. It’s time we were off.”

Dikkerby stood up obediently. His fine head of ginger hair was as firm as a ten day dead hedgehog. His herringbone tweed school uniform had been often patched and mended and was worn during the school holidays as well. The shorts were growing a little short now. His knees bore the scars and marks of a thousand battering at school.

Dikkerby was the “drip” of the school and as such earned all the beatings and scuffles. He hated all the big boys and the big girls with their bullying ways for he was a sensitive soul.

They climbed onto the back of the red double-decker bus and Mam paid for their tickets. She handed him the fourpenny half fare ticket.

Their destination was a big house in salubrious Davenport. It had a driveway and a garden with trees. Dikkerby was delighted at the contrast with his own, gloomy, two up two down, terraced red brick house near the railway lline.

“We’ve come to see Miss Prendergast,” Mam announced to the young lady who opened the door.

“I am Miss Prendergast,” said the young lady in modulated and perfectly pronounced Queen’s English.

Dikkerby had already fallen in love with her. She smelled faintly of Camay soap.

“This must be Dikkerby,” she went on, “He’s very thin, isn’t he?” Every “t” could be clearly heard.

 ”Streak of Piss” his Dad calls him.”

“Erm. Lovely. Well, do come in.”

The drawing room was modern and very clean. Miss Prendergast left Mam with some magazines to pass the time while they went off to the study.

Here Dikkerby was handed a piece of paper and asked to read out loud for Miss Prendergast.

“ ‘t rayon in’t Spayun stehs mayunly on’t playun.”

Miss Prendergast’s face was a picture of disgust.

“Let’s try again. Shall we, Dikkerby?” She paused.” It’s “The””

“ ‘t” said Dikkerby.

Miss Prendergast sighed. She was Elocution Teacher and Dikkerby would be one of her finest triumphs. Would be. There was clearly a long and rocky road ahead of the two of them.

One year later Dikkerby was leaving the house in Davenport for the very last time.

“Goodbye, Miss Prendergast and thank you so much for all that you have done for me.” His diction was almost perfect.

“Ah, Dikkerby” sighed Miss Prendergast, marvelling at the cut-glass accent he had so painfully acquired.

Dikkerby’s new posh accent was to change his life forever.

Mam and Dad had invested their money wisely.

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